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<h1><a href="https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108023">the food of love</a> by <a class='authorlink' href='https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3'>blueink3</a></h1>

<table class="full">

<tr><td><b>Category:</b></td><td>Schitt's Creek</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Genre:</b></td><td>Father-Son Relationship, Fluff, Fluffy Food, Food, M/M, Missing Scene, Post 6x10 Sunrise Sunset</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Language:</b></td><td>English</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Status:</b></td><td>Completed</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Published:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Updated:</b></td><td>2020-03-11</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Packaged:</b></td><td>2021-05-01 15:01:19</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Rating:</b></td><td>Teen And Up Audiences</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Warnings:</b></td><td>No Archive Warnings Apply</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Chapters:</b></td><td>1</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Words:</b></td><td>1,423</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Publisher:</b></td><td>archiveofourown.org</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Story URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/works/23108023</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Author URL:</b></td><td>https://archiveofourown.org/users/blueink3/pseuds/blueink3</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Summary:</b></td><td><div class="userstuff">
              <p>
  <i>“Buckle up, Mr. Brewer, it’s your lucky afternoon.” </i>
</p><p>  <i>He wants to laugh, but it’s honestly doing something for him. “Mm, how lucky?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter. </i></p><p>  <i>David saunters over, little shoulder shimmy jostling the plastic bag he has in his hand. “Beef tenderloin, a lobster roll, and if you’re really good, creme brulee.”<i></i></i></p><p>Or, a missing scene from Sunrise Sunset.</p>
            </div></td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Relationships:</b></td><td>David Rose &amp; Johnny Rose, Patrick Brewer/David Rose</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Comments:</b></td><td>74</td></tr>

<tr><td><b>Kudos:</b></td><td>466</td></tr>

</table>

<a name="section0001"><h2>the food of love</h2></a>
<div class="story"><div class="fff_chapter_notes fff_head_notes"><b>Author's Note:</b><blockquote class="userstuff">
      <p>"If music be the food of love, play on."<br/>- William Shakespeare, Twelfth Night</p>
    </blockquote></div><div class="userstuff module">
    
    <p>The bell over the door rings, and Patrick looks up from behind the counter in time to watch David give a cursory glance around their empty store before plastering himself against the window like a Victorian maiden about to be ravished. </p><p>“Buckle up, Mr. Brewer, it’s your lucky afternoon.” </p><p>He wants to laugh, but it’s honestly doing something for him. “Mm, how lucky?” he asks, leaning his elbows on the counter. </p><p>David saunters over, little shoulder shimmy jostling the plastic bag he has in his hand. “Beef tenderloin, a lobster roll, and if you’re really good, creme brulee.” </p><p>“Oh that’s very lucky,” he murmurs, ignoring the bag David is placing next to the cash in favor of grabbing (gently) his sweater and tugging him in for a kiss. “Successful afternoon then?” </p><p>“Oh my God, you have no idea. The meal is divine. I nearly died.” He swoons, just to drive the point home. </p><p>God, Patrick loves it when David is extra about food.</p><p>“All right, let’s see it then,” he says, pawing at the bag. “Since <em> some </em>of us had to stay behind and make sure we have money for the carefully constructed budget you no doubt will blow.” </p><p>“Hey,” David pouts. “My dad is paying for the food, thank you very much. Here.” He gets the first container open, picks up the bite of beef tenderloin and holds it up to Patrick’s mouth. </p><p>“And we don’t want to - ” <em> bankrupt your dad </em>is what Patrick means to say, but David all but shoves the beef into his mouth and his brain basically short circuits. </p><p>David wasn’t kidding. It really is a religious experience. </p><p>“Fuck,” he groans as he swallows, grabbing David’s wrist to keep him from going far and closing his lips around the next bite, tongue laving at David’s fingers to savor every morsel. </p><p>“Mkay, do I have to lock the door?” he asks, voice breathy. “Because if you keep that up, I’ll have no choice but to haul you into the back and have my way with you.” </p><p>“Can the food come with?” </p><p>“Oh we haven’t had that conversation yet, but I can negotiate quickly,” David says as he leans over the counter, crowding into his space, and Patrick snorts as he gets a napkin and gently wipes David’s hand clean. </p><p>“Maybe next time.” He presses a kiss to David’s fingertips and then one to his lips. </p><p>“Spoilsport,” David grumbles, but his cheeks are flushed. He reaches for the remainder of the beef, but Patrick gently slaps his hand. </p><p>“Nope, you had your turn,” he says, popping it into his mouth before David can beat him to it. He’s vicious when it comes to food. Patrick learned that the hard way during the truffle incident of 2018. </p><p>David’s face is doing that thing, though. That thing that Patrick doesn’t have a specific name for, but it’s when he’s simultaneously happy and sad and calm and worried and it’s honestly a feat of engineering, but it makes Patrick pause with a crudite halfway to his mouth.</p><p>“What’s up?” he asks, but David just shakes his head. “Babe, you know I was kidding. Have more if you want.” </p><p>“No, no, I just…” But he trails off before reaching over and wiping a bit of sauce from the corner of Patrick’s mouth. “My dad was just a little weird at the tasting.” </p><p>“Weird how?” </p><p>“I think - I think he’s worried about how much it’s costing.” </p><p>Patrick lowers the crudite to the counter. “Okay,” he says slowly. “Should we rethink the menu?” </p><p>David’s beautiful brows give away his answer before his words can.</p><p>“I know that’s not what you want to do, but we don’t want your dad to stress about it. He’s got a lot on his plate now, with the second motel.” </p><p>David nods rapidly, but still remains silent. Patrick steps around the counter and wraps his arms around his waist.</p><p>“David?” </p><p>“No, yeah, yeah, we can definitely do that.” </p><p>Well that was convincing. </p><p>“Hey.” He presses a kiss to David’s cheek. “What if we used a little more of the money my parents gave us?” </p><p>“We can’t do that.” </p><p>Patrick leans back with a frown. “Why not?”</p><p>“I can’t<em> ask </em> you to do that,” he clarifies. </p><p>“Baby, you’re not asking me to do anything. It’s our money. Joint checking, remember?” </p><p>David audibly swallows and nods, so Patrick just holds him tighter and waits him out. Eventually he’ll say what he needs to. The words always come, Patrick has learned, if given the time and space to. </p><p>“We were saving that for our honeymoon,” David eventually whispers. </p><p>“Which we can’t take until next year anyway,” he reasons, getting his hands under David’s sweater so he can stroke the warm skin at his back. “We can save up enough until then. You know I love a good line item.” </p><p>“But - ” David begins before biting his lips, cutting off whatever had been about to come out. </p><p>Patrick presses harder on his lower back, bringing them closer so he can press their foreheads together. “But?” he gently urges. </p><p>David’s nose scrunches so Patrick kisses it because he just can’t help himself. </p><p>“But what about a house?”</p><p>Oh. </p><p>Patrick leans away but doesn’t let go of the grip he has on him. “A house?” And no amount of bad news could stop the smile that spreads across his face. </p><p>David tilts his head back to the ceiling, but he can’t stop smiling either. “Yes, well, we can’t live in that bastard stepchild of a one-bedroom forever, no matter how many toilet renos you agree to.” </p><p>“David, do you want to buy a house with me?” he teases, gently swaying with him back and forth. “With a California king bed and east facing windows and a wrap-around porch and enough closet space to contain Rick Owens’ entire fall collection?” </p><p>“I’m pretty sure that’s what ‘until death do us part’ means,” he snips, but it contains none of his usual bite. He pauses and his eyes narrow, contemplative and dangerous. "His <em>entire </em>fall collection?"</p><p>Patrick grins. "Uh huh."</p><p>"Oh I love it when you talk dirty to me." </p><p>“I love <em>you</em>,” Patrick replies, "expansive knitwear collection and all. For better or for worse."</p><p>"Look, it's my sickness <em>and </em>my health, okay?" David snaps, but he's laughing as Patrick cups his face and leans in, pressing their lips together in a kiss that’s a promise.</p><p>Patrick pulls away and noses at his cheek for a moment, placing a peck there. “And we can have all that and still offer to help your dad pay for the food.” </p><p>David nods and the smile slowly slides from his face. “I don’t want him to worry,” he says quietly and Patrick has to physically wrangle in his fond expression in response to that. He’s pretty sure he fails anyway. </p><p>There was a time when hell or high water wouldn’t have stopped David from getting what he wanted, no matter the cost. And although he made a face at the idea of changing the menu, Patrick knows he’d do it in a heartbeat if it was the only option. If a palate as refined as David Rose’s was out of his father’s price range. </p><p>“David, make the offer,” he says. “Knowing what I do of your dad, he’ll probably turn you down. Or maybe he’ll only take a bit. But at least he knows you offered. He knows that there’s a backup plan to give us the wedding we want.” </p><p>Give <em> us </em> the wedding <em> we </em>want. He stresses the fact that he and David are in this together. </p><p>“And we can save whatever’s left for our honeymoon.” </p><p>“Or a down payment,” David murmurs. </p><p>“Or a down payment,” he whispers, throat tight with the possibility of forever. “Now," he begins as he slides his hands into David's back pockets and squeezes, "are you going to feed me the rest of this or do you wanna talk budget some more?” </p><p>“Feed you,” David says, nodding so hard he’s probably going to have to see a chiropractor. “Definitely feed you.”</p><p>Patrick smirks. “Then lock the door.” </p><p>“What?” David looks confused, but definitely intrigued. It’s a rare thing for Patrick to put his baser instincts above sound business practice.  </p><p>“Lock the door,” he says as he backs up toward the stockroom, fingers slowly moving towards his collar. “And bring the creme brulee. Let’s put those infamous Blouse Barn negotiation skills to the test.” </p><p>David’s jaw drops just as Patrick gets his top button undone. </p><p>“Oh yes, Mr. Brewer.” </p>
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